


Timeless

by alwaysatime (orphan_account)



Series: Touch [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Character Death, F/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-30
Updated: 2013-04-30
Packaged: 2017-12-09 23:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/779153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/alwaysatime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were never destined to touch, yet when it all ended (for it always ended, no matter how hard they tried,) they were too late. A series of reincarnation one-shots featuring Éponine and Enjolras. 2/5 planned reincarnation cycles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Timeless

### La Belle Époque - 1871

_It seemed timeless - as if they'd been expecting the heartbreak from the very beginning._

-.-.-

He was ever the gentleman - a patron of the arts, and a good, honest companion. His name was Étienne, and to him, loyalty to his friends was placed above all else. She was the perfect housewife - adoring, loving, and a good match for her Mathieu. Her name was Émilie, and to her, loyalty to her husband was placed above all else.

They knew each other well, and once in a while they'd have a conversation or two about the arts. The arts were a timeless thing, something they could both converse easily about.

She thought him attractive, but she was married, devoted to the point of worship. She'd been in love with Mathieu since she'd first laid eyes on him, and nothing would change that, not even Étienne. What was attraction compared to love, after all?

She didn't stop talking with him, though. That was the little freedom she allowed for herself. Sometimes she would even play the piano for him, something she hadn't done for Mathieu in a long while.

He thought her beautiful, but she was Mathieu's, and even so, she was completely enamoured of her husband. He'd admired her intelligence and free-spirit, yet wondered how she could allow herself to fill the dull role of housewife. Love was not meant to be a ball and chain.

He didn't stop talking with her, though. If only because he wanted her to be able to exercise her mind in thoughtful conversation. She was wonderfully intriguing, a definite change from all the bourgeoisie girls he was used to hearing Gaetan talk about.

-.-.-

_How pensive, how sad you seem to be ..._

She never took off her gloves. That was one thing he had noticed. The pretty, white silk gloves that had undoubtedly been bestowed upon her by her husband commonly covered her hands. Even when she played the piano for him, the gloves did not come off. It was that one day where she did that he remembered with a startling clarity.

Émilie sat before the finely polished keys, smiling gently at him. "What would you like to hear me play today, _monsieur_?" She rarely asked him for requests. Then again, she rarely played for him at all, so perhaps it was not so rare as it was at odds with her personality. The Émilie he knew was a vibrant, noisy creature who bustled about with protesting handmaidens trailing after her. Today she seemed quiet, almost contemplative.

"Anything is amiable to me," was the answer he gave her.

Her hands hovered for a few moments, and he waited for the music to begin, but it didn't. Étienne watched, instead, as she carefully peeled off her lacy gloves, exposing lily-white hands as well as a peculiar, round angry-red mark. "Your hand, Madame Pontier, is it alright?" he questioned, concerned. Was this the reason why she always wore gloves?

"It's _Émilie_ , I keep telling you," she replied easily, ignoring his query in a way only she could. "And I'm fine," she added, as he opened his mouth to protest. Émilie's practiced fingers paused over the ivory keys only a moment more before she began Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Somewhere between the soft notes he forgot about her hand, and instead found himself sitting next to her on the piano bench, just watching her. He watched, and she played.

The music drew out a kind sadness in him as it drew to a close. Émilie hadn't played the whole song, of course, but he was sure if she had then he would have fallen in lo- again, he reminded himself that she was married and that they were only friends. Entertaining any other option was unthinkable. It was a foolish notion, at any rate, Émilie was hopelessly besotted with her currently absent husband. Perhaps he was just feeling lonesome. His friends all had ladies or mistresses of their own, and here he was, wandering aimlessly through life. It wasn't as if he hadn't tried - yet none of the bourgeoisie girls he knew appealed to him.

"Do you think Mathieu will be along shortly?"

Étienne smiled at her, "I'm sure he will be," he lied.

-.-.-

_So dark - so dark and deep ..._

They had planned on going out for the evening. A small dinner with friends. Étienne followed Mathieu up the stairs to his bedroom, since the latter had insisted he pay the former back for the previous outing. Regardless of the price of the meal, Mathieu always insisted on paying when he picked the place they would go. Étienne had constantly protested the unfairness of this - surely Mathieu knew that he wasn't able to afford fancy dining - it made no sense for Mathieu to pay the full amount whenever they went somewhere expensive. Still, his friend insisted, as did Émilie, so every few weeks he would be treated to the kind of food only Mathieu's family could provide.

It was only by chance that he spotted the letter on the desk that night as Mathieu retrieved his money from the bedroom next door. The parchment smelled of perfume, something Étienne knew Émilie didn't often wear. When she did, it was nowhere near this strong. Suspicious, he glanced over his shoulder at the open door, hesitating. Was it really his place to be snooping around his friend's things? And yet ... and yet ... there was the sound of footsteps as Mathieu approached.

"What is this, Mathieu? Is this what I think it is?" Étienne scooped up the paper and brandished it violently in front of the younger man's face. _Let him think of that what he will,_ Étienne thought calmly. _If he's done no wrong he'll have nothing to hide._ Regardless, Étienne hoped it wasn't what he thought it was. "Another woman's note? Explain this."

Mathieu paled considerably, and the sinking feeling in Étienne's stomach doubled.

"Please, Étienne, lower your voice," Mathieu murmured, closing the door behind him. "Émilie's downstairs in the parlour. I haven't done anything wrong, I swear. It's just what it is, a letter from a friend. We're friends."

" _Friends_ ," Étienne sneered. "I'm sure every woman you befriend sprays her letters with perfume. You not only play the part of a fool, you are one. So is this where you've been all those times you've left Émilie alone in the house, unaware? To visit your whore? Émilie's never done anything to deserve this from you. She waits for you, you know, those afternoons you spend with that tramp. What in god's name would possess you to do such a thing!"

"You're one to speak of impropriety, Étienne. What of all those afternoons you spend holed up here with my wife?" Mathieu's expression took on a fraction of the anger that Étienne felt. "And she's not like that! She's a proper lady - don't you dare insult her like that! She has no idea -" he was abruptly cut off by Étienne's new tirade.

"You mean those afternoons I spend trying to tell her you'll come home soon? That you haven't been taking off afternoons without telling her? I've made your excuses long enough, Mathieu. Friendship only goes so far. Émilie is my friend as well, and until this point I was able to turn a blind eye - god knows how - and I will do so no longer. If you do not tell her, I will."

Mathieu's jaw stiffened, but the young man remained silent. Étienne ran a hand through his hair, frustrated and upset.

"I don't understand why. Don't you love her, don't you love Émilie?"

"Our marriage was arranged, Étienne. I married her on my parent's behalf. Her family wanted money and mine wanted titles and connections. I thought I could make her happy and that I would be content. Émilie doesn't know. That's why I courted her so carefully, I wanted her to believe that I loved her. I think I even wanted myself to believe it. A few months ago I met Corinne. She's beautiful, Étienne, loving and caring and - and it's her I love. What can I do? What will you do?" Mathieu had the decency to look ashamed now.

"I might just tell her if you don't. Honest to god, you've been more than just foolish, Mathieu! You've ruined yourself - you've ruined your wife. Stop seeing your mistress, it's not worth it."

Mathieu hung his head down, "Corinne deserves more too, I know. But I've no answer to your questions, my friend."

"Don't call me that, Don't call me your friend. For shame, you've brought disgrace upon yourself and the one woman who has done nothing but been a faithful wife to you," he snapped coldly before exiting the room - frustrated and disappointed at his cowardly former friend.

__The secrets that you keep_ ...  
_

_-.-.-  
_

_You leave me to take the road to glory ..._

Émilie had the letter she had taken from Étienne in her hand as she left. She had to see - to find out for herself what this mystery woman looked like. She hadn't been able to believe it at first, not when Étienne had told her, not when Mathieu had confirmed it. She had screamed - she had cried - she had lost control. For a while, Émilie had been afraid that she had lost her mind. Looking back now, she felt a twinge of amusement at the two men who had obviously floundered for some way to calm her, yet had come up lacking.

Her heart ached with each step she took - she had refused to pay for a fiacre with Mathieu's money - yet she did not falter or slow in her step. The house was only a few more numbers down.

Then the girl appeared. All long, blond hair and soft curves. Smiling face and a basket full of flowers. If Émilie hadn't been so upset and jealous she would have probably puked. Mathieu was in love with this? This two-a-penny bourgeoisie girl? The sick churning in her gut doubled. Émilie turned to leave.

Deep, deep, down, she had wished that Corinne had turned out to be some tramp instead of just some normal bourgeoisie. It would have been much easier to hate her. Instead, all Émilie felt was a sick kind of envy. This pretty face had captured Mathieu's heart in a way she had not been able to. The wedding ring on her finger suddenly felt heavy and cold. Émilie wrenched her glove off, tugging the ring off along with it. It slipped, and tumbled onto the pavement and into a puddle. Cursing, Émilie stooped to pick it up. The shiny metal was now grimy and dirt-covered. Scowling, she wiped it clean on her white glove, the glove from the pair she had taken to wearing everywhere she went. The pair Mathieu had given to her the autumn of their wedding.

She stood there, in the middle of the street, clutching the two material things that she would have given the world for only yesterday. Now they seemed almost worthless. With a fierce cry, Émilie threw the lace gloves into the puddle and stormed off. It didn't matter where she went as long as it wasn't here.

_But my heart will follow you all the way ..._

-.-.-

_So many things unclear ..._

From a few houses down, Corinne looked up to see a woman in a plum gown running away from a lone pair of cream white gloves on the pavement. For a moment she was tempted to fetch them - surely the woman would return for gloves as lovely as these - but she hesitated as she saw a man step out from between two of the neighbouring houses to scoop them up. His golden hair glinted brightly in the sunlight as he examined them, gently brushing the muck off with careful fingers before tucking them into his pockets. Corinne turned away and resumed her walk home from the gardens.

_So many things unknown ..._

-.-.-

_There are times when I catch in the silence ...  
_

He hadn't been by their home in months. Étienne fumbled idly with the gloves in his pocket. Now he stood before the door, thinking. He didn't know why he had come - had he wanted to return the gloves to Émilie? What had he expected? For her to throw her arms around him and hold him and tell him that she -

She loved Mathieu.

It was simple as that.

She hated him.

That was simple, too.

Étienne almost couldn't blame her, because everything she had known was gone now. What had seemed right was wrong, and what had seemed wrong was right. Étienne had seen her hurt, her pain. He had felt her blows as she refused to believe what he told her. He could have stopped her, but he hadn't. Somehow he felt as if it was all his fault, anyways. So he had let her hit him, scratching and clawing and shrieking and crying until Mathieu shouted at her to stop - that it was true - and she had collapsed into a sobbing heap on the floor. Étienne had wanted to cry too, to say he was sorry that he had let this happen - even though _that_ wasn't true at all - but the words were dry in his mouth as Mathieu had calmly told him that he had thought it was best if Étienne left them both to sort things out.

Étienne had wanted to tell her that he knew how she felt - knew how it felt to not be loved by the one you loved so desperately - but she wouldn't care. He was only a friend to her, a friend who'd brought her the worst news of her life, at that. He had to be the last person she wanted to see right now.

The door swung open. Mathieu's grave face sent terror coursing through Étienne's veins. The older man looked paler than Étienne had ever seen.

"She wants to see you."

-.-.-

_The sigh of a faraway song ..._

She was with child. She was sickly. Étienne forced himself to sit down, even though he felt as if he shouldn't have been there at all, not while she was like this. If women had not been his area of expertise, surely with pregnant women he would do no better.

"Please, _monsieur_. I'm glad you came," her voice was hoarse and weak. The servant girl at her side dabbed at Émilie's forehead with a damp cloth, but Émilie brushed the hand aside with a strength Étienne hadn't thought possible from someone looking the way she did. Bedridden. Pregnant. Ill. All words that he would have never used to describe her, not in a million lifetimes. The urge to flee came fast and hard, but Étienne remained rooted in his seat.

Because she was glad he had come.

-.-.-

_In my life, there is someone who touches my life ..._

Émilie had died after giving birth early autumn.

Étienne had stood before her grave, next to her widowed husband and motherless babe. Her last wish had been for Mathieu to wait a respectable period of time after her passing - she had continued over Mathieu's loud protests that she would indeed live - and then court that blond bourgeoisie girl he was in love with. Étienne hadn't been able to believe it at first, not when Mathieu had told him, not when Émilie had confirmed it. He'd wanted to scream - to cry - to lose his mind.

Émilie had forgiven him, in the end. That afternoon when he had paid their home a call at Mathieu's behest. She had smiled at him, a smile that tore at the very fibers of his being. Étienne remembered trying to return her gloves, even as worn as they were now. Étienne had washed them again and again with his own hands until they were both free of any traces of dirt, until they were both creamy white once more. He remembered the laughing look in her eyes as she had refused them, saying that since they had somehow found their way to him he deserved them. They sat in his heavily pocket now as he made his way through Paris.

His heart ached with each step he took - he had refused to pay for a fiacre home with Mathieu's money - yet he did not falter or slow in his step. His house was only a few more numbers down.

He saw the flash of long brown hair and laughing dark eyes just before he reached his doorstep.

_Waiting here, waiting near ..._


	2. Timeless: Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Corinne/Cosette reflects on Émilie and the people who loved her, and Émilie's daughter reflects on the man who loved her mother.

### Émilie's Grave - 1898

Corinne had never asked about the lace gloves.

Mathieu had never talked about them, either.

Patria doesn't know about them at all, and for that they both are glad.

Corinne could still remember seeing Étienne (although she hadn't known him at the time) holding Émilie's white gloves in large hands, standing in the middle of the street. He had reminded her of a man lost in the woods, yet now when she thought back on it he looked like a man who had found the North Star. Corinne had never told anyone of that fateful afternoon - she had kept that little moment to herself. It made her feel better about what had been _Mathieu-and-Émilie._ The idea that perhaps _Étienne-and-Émilie_ had existed soothed the hurt. Corinne had never wanted to be anyone's mistress. And yet.

Young Patria holds her father's arm as they stand before her mother's grave. Émilie's grave. Sometimes, when Corinne looked at Patria, all she could see was the lovely woman in the deep purple gown. And it hurt, too, to see Patria looking so much like her mother. If it hurt Mathieu too, he never mentioned it, for which she was glad. Émilie had been beautiful, Corinne knew. Wide, deep-set smoky brown eyes and thick, wavy brown hair. She had seen the pictures, even as Mathieu tried to avoid letting her see, probably in order to spare her the guilt and the pain. Patria, however, relished greedily with each framed photo of her 'real mother'. There was some sort of tiny shrine in her room, Corinne was sure, so she made an effort to never glimpse inside whenever she walked by. Most of the time, that worked. Sometimes, though, it didn't.

Still, Corinne was happy with what she had been given. A loving husband and two lovely daughters, even if one of them wasn't hers - and never would be.

"Even though I didn't know her, I still miss her, papa," Patria was saying, tears evident in her normally laughing eyes.

"I miss her, too."

Corinne tried to pretend she hadn't heard Mathieu say that. She also tried to pretend that she didn't feel Patria's eyes - so like Émilie's - burning holes into the side of her head. She pretended she didn't feel Mathieu's gaze flicker guiltily in her direction. Corinne sighs.

"She must have been a wonderful woman," Corinne finally says when she is able to speak without a quaver in her voice. "I wish I could have met her."

"Papa," Patria speaks up, and to Corinne it seems as if the young girl is trying to pretend as though she hasn't heard Corinne speaking. "Where is Monsieur Étienne?"

The two of them - Étienne and Patria - are on close terms with one another. Society whispers quiet, questionable remarks about the relationship between the older bachelor and the motherless Piermont child, yet those two seem completely unaffected by it. It is a bond that no one can touch, not even the harsher words of Paris' finest. Corinne wishes that Patria could feel a little bit like the outcast that she makes Corinne feel like, but the girl is as if she is made of marble.

"I haven't the faintest idea, _ma petite_."

Patria pouts, a little push of her full bottom lip. Corinne resumes her respectful gaze towards Émilie's gravestone. Patria is beautiful, but it is a great and terrible beauty to Corinne, who will never feel comfortable as long as those watchful eyes are near. Although she never sees Émilie's ghost, Corinne is sure that she is a haunted woman all the same. _  
_

"Étienne is here," Mathieu says suddenly.

Patria's head jerks upwards in delight as the tall man approaches.

Corinne mutters an excuse of some sort - surely her own little one is causing havoc among the servants - she convinces Mathieu to return home with her. Mathieu nods and turns to Patria to tell her that he will ask Étienne to see her home afterwards, should she choose to stay.

The rapturous smile on the girl's face widens, if at all possible.

Mathieu tells Corinne to wait in the fiacre while he talks with Étienne.

Corinne leaves without looking back.

-.-.-

_You're here, that's all I need to know ..._

Her breath catches when she sees him.

 _'Doesn't it always?'_ she asks herself sheepishly.

Patria's dark eyes absorb the sight of him - her best friend, her confidant - and her link to the one woman she wishes she could have met. Patria loves her mother more than the whole world combined. Sometimes Patria thinks he's the only person besides herself who misses her mother at all. He is the only one who understands. Monsieur Étienne is the only one who comprehends the loss the way she does. He is the one who taught her to play the piano. Sometimes Patria wishes Monsieur Étienne was her papa instead.

When she first played Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata for him he cried, and although Patria doesn't know exactly why, she can guess it's because of her mother. When she first finished the piece he was silent, and although Patria doesn't hear the words ' _I love her_ ', she knows he does. He loved her mother, and still does, for love is something that never dies.

And he is by her side now. Assuring her father that she will be home on time for dinner. Her papa is going on and on, and Patria resists the urge to whine. Monsieur Étienne is a gentleman - there is no need to patronize a family friend, she wants to say - yet she understands the resentment her father holds for M. Étienne. She understands that there will always be some level of resentment. Monsieur Étienne told her the story of her mother long ago, and it was a sad tale that made Patria want to lock herself in her room and scream and cry and -

"Why couldn't maman have loved you instead?" Patria finds herself asking once her father is out of sight.

Monsieur Étienne's troubled blue eyes meet hers. "Maybe she did," he offers, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "But she loved your papa more, _ma chère fille_."

The pout reappears on Patria's lips. The tiny piece of hope that is snatched away from her stings her eyes. "How could she not love you more? Papa loves Corinne, why couldn't she love you instead?"

 _'Why can't you be my papa instead?'_ is the unspoken question they both hear in the air.

He shakes his head, and Patria admires the light reflecting off of his now white-blonde hair with a kind of regret. "Be nicer to your _belle_ - _mère._ She's doing her best by you and your sister," he tells her instead.

"Half-sister," Patria insists stubbornly.

M. Étienne laughs, but it is a sad sound, one that troubles her young ears. "You sounds just like her; you look just like her. _Petite Patria_." He smiles wistfully at her. "Your maman would be proud of you, I think."

Her heart swells at this new little piece of information - she flings her long, skinny arms around his middle. "Really? You mean it?"

His arms are hesitant as they surround her. "Truly," he answers. When he slips his hands into her pockets, she does not notice - she is too busy basking in the glow of happiness that does not surround her nearly enough. Étienne can hear a few muffled sniffs and sighs as they settle into something close to comfortable.

The two of them stand there, then, two lonely souls missing Émilie together.

"I see her sometimes," Patria whispers quietly, as if she is sharing some great secret between the two of them that cannot be said in any normal tone. Her breathing becomes slightly erratic with the confession, and her eyes widen ever so slightly. "She's wearing a purple gown, and she's always smiling, but her eyes - her eyes -"

"-look like they're laughing." Étienne finishes, in the same quiet tone. His face is still expressionless, as if he's thinking of a time from long, long ago.

Their eyes meet, and for a moment Émilie's eyes are laughing at him from Patria's beaming face. Suddenly, he feels weary beyond his years. Suddenly, he feels the loss again - sharp and quick - like little stabbing knives in his heart and lungs. It hurts to breathe.

_Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab._

Eight times in total, each following after the other with little time to feel the pain at all.

"Let's go, I promised your father on my life that I'd bring you home before supper. While he might not murder me, he might not let me visit as much anymore, and we wouldn't want that, now would we?" The voice that speaks is calm and collected - a voice that, perhaps, inspired men and made great speeches in another lifetime - and Patria knows the conversation is over.

Patria does not protest or answer his question (she is her mother's daughter in that respect, avoiding questions and the like), she merely accepts his proffered arm and turns to leave. Even though they are walking back as the sun sets, she feels no fear with this man by her side. And neither does he.

_And you will keep me safe ..._

-.-.-

_And you will keep me close ..._

When Patria discovers the soft, white gloves in the pocket of her gown later, she says nothing, merely pulls them on for a moment in the sanctuary of her room. They fit her hands perfectly, so she turns them over and over - this way and that - admiring them. They appear to be well-worn, but in a good way. A loved way. Glancing out the window, Patria can see the rain trickling down at a steady pace. There is no woman in a purple gown standing outside, merely a dirty-faced gamine girl who smiles with her mother's smile and stares with her mother's eyes. As M. Étienne hails and enters a fiacre to leave, she watches the gamine follow him inside, hitching up her worn dress to step up. M. Étienne does not show any signs of seeing the ghost-like waif who seats herself next to him.

Patria smiles a secret smile - as if she knows a great secret that is hers and hers alone - and tucks the gloves into her jewellery box before heading down to join her parents for dinner.

_And rain will make the flowers grow ..._

**Author's Note:**

> So this Author's Note is split into two parts; the personal part - which is more my thoughts and feelings on this chapter; and the historical part - which is exactly what it sounds like but also includes the logistics of my writing. So - personal bit first, feel free to skip the next paragraph or so if you don't care for that sort of thing. Or skip it all, for all I care, it's just an Author's Note - the author can't be too important, can she?
> 
> Okay, so I'll admit. Writing the last half of this chapter made me cry and cry and cry. I swear my heart broke into fifteen million pieces. Out of all the things I've written for , I do believe I love this one the most. I just loved writing it (love love love love), and I hope that you all enjoyed reading it. I think it's a really beautiful piece that could almost stand alone - even out of the LesMis fanfiction category.
> 
> I know Éponine is often the one written with heartbreak, but still, writing it from Enjolras' POV nearly killed me. ;w; I absolutely hated having to kill Éponine off again, but it had to be done. I swear there is a happy ending for them both, though! I wouldn't be able to not write one after all of this. I love them too much as a couple to let the ship sink!
> 
> If you've haven't guessed already, I tend to write things kind of structured - surely you'll notice that the beginning is much that same as the first chapter. I just like doing that, so ... that's how it's going to be! o3o
> 
> I'd also like to thank everyone who reviewed last time. You really gave me the energy and courage to write this. I've never had such a wonderful response before!
> 
> -.-.-
> 
> Now onto the more ... informative part. I'll start with my decisions regarding their reincarnations and actions. I wanted Éponine to marry Marius. Yes, I put the two of them together, happy - but no, they were not in love. As stated, it was a marriage of convenience. The love was completely one-sided on Éponine's part. I wanted them all to remain true to their original feelings for each other.
> 
> You may find Enjolras' sudden feelings for Éponine slightly OOC, but I disagree. In this reincarnation there was no big battle - no fighting cause for him. (There very well could have been, but I wanted to focus more on their relationship for this one.) This enables him to focus more on Éponine, which is probably what you wanted if you're reading this story! Passion - true passion - is something that strikes maybe only once in a lifetime. He's smitten with her, yes, partly because this time they are closer friends, closer companions. He values his friendship with Marius over that, though when he realizes that Marius has been unfaithful, he begins to question himself.
> 
> Regarding Marius, I'm sure some people may/may not be upset that he was seeing Cosette even though he was married to Éponine. Let me make it clear that he never did anything with Cosette (i.e. no kissy-kissy) but he did hide the fact that he was married from her. He feels really bad about it, he hadn't meant to lead Cosette on ... but you know how it starts with a little lie - and then the whole thing blows up in your face. Does that make you all like him a bit again? He's going to be in the next chapter, after all (another interlude, anyone?). I did mention this whole idea of 'structure', remember?
> 
> On a lighter note, did anyone note the birthmark on her hand being the one she received from the gunshot that killed her previously? I'm sure you all did.
> 
> Historically, this chapter takes place during 'La Belle Époque'. In English this translates to 'the beautiful era'. This era starts shortly after the Third French Republic began, and ends with the coming of World War I. It also started after the French-German war. I realize my fic makes no mention of that fact, which is undoubtedly something Enjolras would have gone for. However, they are young adults here (especially Éponine and Enjolras, who are both younger than Marius is here by a few years) and would not have been old enough to fight the war when it happened, therefore Enjolras could not participate - although I'm sure he has lots to say on the subject. Anyways - back to the subject at hand. Because of this period peace and prosperity that the arts were able to flourish. I chose La Belle Époque mainly because it's a very romantic period, and I wanted that to be the setting for the plot I had in mind.
> 
> If anyone has any questions at all about anything, I would absolutely love to answer them (or in the case of the history, tell you to use Google and research it yourself)!
> 
> Please, please, please - read and review! I love this piece so much, and I would be so happy with feedback on it. I realize this Author Note is really long and that I rambled, but if you still stuck with me I love you for it.


End file.
